Dumpster
by montparnassee
Summary: Jim is incredibly sensitive to the cold; Sebastian doesn't realize why until it's too late.


The criminal stormed out of his study, brown sweater an odd contrast with his black dress pants. He shot a glare at Sebastian before climbing onto the couch, balancing precariously on one foot as he leaned for the thermostat. That was the price they had paid for a Victorian house in Central London - light switches and other electrical devices were in very odd places. Jim was already short, and he knew it - he didn't need to be reminded every day by his inability to do simple tasks around the house.

"Careful," Sebastian muttered, not taking his eyes off his book, cigarette between his fingers. "James, you're going to fall. No shoes on the couch. Honestly, it's like I'm raising a toddler."

"Don't think I won't fire you," he hissed, slamming the cover open and punching the buttons. "Don't think I won't."

He only quirked an eyebrow in response, turning the page and wincing slightly when the crisp page threatened to break. This was why old books weren't meant to be read - but the mere idea of leaving a book unread was a horror in itself to Sebastian. Better a well-worn, well-loved favorite than an antique gathering dust on a shelf. Jim disagreed.

"Damn it!" Jim pushed the buttons firmly, kicking the heater up to 78. The book hit the floor, and within seconds Sebastian had his arms firmly on Jim's hips. He knew that tone of voice well, and it normally meant that someone would be dead within the next hour. Dead or in the hospital; and since he was the only one around.. Best to calm him down.

"Hush." Easily picking the small man up, Sebastian threw him over his shoulder. "Come here, arse."

Jim kicked him sharply in the groin. "Don't turn the heater down."

"You like it hot as hell. It's the middle of winter, sure, but you're bundled up in a jumper and blankets, I'm sure. And your office is even hotter than this, what with the fucking fireplace and all. We're going to bed, and I'm turning the heater down. You can snuggle up to me if you're going to be such a bitch."

"Shut up." Jim's eyes were practically black as Sebastian dropped him on the bed. "Shut up, Moran. You aren't sleeping in here tonight. It's a privilege. You abuse it."

"Hush, kitten." Sebastian frowned, tugging the jumper over Jim's head. "Do you have a fever?" He pressed a hand against Jim's forehead, shaking his head. "No. What's the matter, huh?" Quickly tugging Jim's pants off, he walked over to the dresser, pulling out a pair of fleece pajama pants and wormed them up Jim's hips. "Never thought dressing you would be part of the job description," he teased, walking back to the oak dresser and pulling a long-sleeved tee out. "Put it on yourself."

Jim caught the shirt tossed at him and pulled it over his head. Dropping his head onto the pillow, he tugged the covers over his head, shivering slightly. As soon as Sebastian had stripped to his boxers, he shut the lights out. "James," he cooed, climbing into bed next to the Irishman. Wrapping his arms firmly around him, he slid a hand under Jim's shirt, pressing it against the small of his back and effectively trapping him against himself.

"I don't want to speak to you. Your hands are freezing." Jim pushed his head against Sebastian's chest. "You're only here because you're warm. Remember that."

"Yep." Sebastian nodded, pulling Jim into a tighter embrace. "Warm. G'night, kitten."

"It's goodnight. Goodnight, though, tiger."

Only later, after The Fall, does Sebastian remember how Jim had told him that he had used to spend winter nights sleeping in a dumpster in Dublin.

"After my Mum died - my father was a bit of a deadbeat, you understand - my siblings and I had to fend for ourselves. My brothers joined the army. I haven't heard from them since. Left me with my little sister. I used to pickpocket to keep us alive, to keep her fed. I can't count the nights I went without food just so she'd have more to eat. Sometimes she'd notice and she'd make me eat; but only right when I was barely able to stay on my feet. It was hell. But it worked. And then someone noticed me, someone big - and they offered me a job. Kill my wife's lover and I'll pay you. Course, I didn't want to take it. But she was dying, she'd came down with some kind of fever and I couldn't afford to take her to the hospital - couldn't bear to see her sent away when they realized I couldn't pay. I would have, in the end, but it'd have been too late. I think I knew that. Anyway, I took it. Got her in the hospital. Got her fed. Got her back to a normal weight. I even found us a nice flat - could afford it, because I did such a great job that he kept coming back to me. I was stupid, I was messy, left trails, and eventually she found out. I left that night, before she could - left her a hundred thousand pounds. Haven't seen her either. Gave her all I had and I ran. Completely alone. I thought I could run away, start over. Come back in several years. Maybe it'd be okay, you know? I went to Dublin. Lost the guy I was working for. Slept in the trash to keep warm till I was nineteen. Can't believe I didn't freeze to death."

Sebastian had made sure he took his medicine after that.

And now he wishes he would have put two and two together sooner; he would have kept Jim warm, and if he had kept Jim warm - maybe he would still be with him.

But he had failed the criminal.

It was his fault. Everything was his fault.


End file.
